


Old Married Couple

by monstermasks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Anathema is all of us, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermasks/pseuds/monstermasks
Summary: “Are you… not married?” Anathema was sure that this revelation shouldn’t have topped the one about Adam being the son of Satan or the whole Armageddon thing but somehow this seemed the strangest part of a day already saturated in strange doings. “How can you not be married?"In which Anathema is all of us.





	Old Married Couple

Later, much later – after the Big Bad Downstairs was back where he belonged, and Adam was looking a lot more boy-shaped and a lot less Destroyer-of-All-ish, and any ethereal (or occult) entities had tucked their wings away and gone back to rather badly pretending to be human – they all gathered at Anathema’s cottage for whisky with a dash of tea.

Finally, finally, there was peace and almost-quiet. They sipped their ‘tea’ and listened contemplatively to The Them playing ferociously in the backyard, a distantly shouted argument (something about Martians only being from Mars and why _can’t _they be called Neptunians?) only interrupted periodically by Newt’s snores from the bedroom.

“Well,” said Crowley eventually.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. Anathema raised an eyebrow, but obviously those two words were enough to close the matter.

They all took another large swallow.

“I suppose,” Crowley started.

“Oh, I really wouldn’t.” Aziraphale replied and Crowley inclined his head in acknowledgement that no, Aziraphale probably wouldn’t.

“But what about- “ He tried again.

“Really, dear, there’s nothing more to be done there.” Crowley sighed grumpily and both men settled back into their chairs, argument apparently over. Anathema glanced between them and decided that it had really been _quite _a long and stressful day and honestly politeness was for the birds.

“Listen, can you two stop doing that?”

“Doing what, dear?” Aziraphale asked (Crowley only arched one finely shaped eyebrow and silently asked her to make him).

“I know you’ve been married for a millennia or whatever but others do actually require the middle bits in a conversation.”

“_Married?” _Asked Aziraphale wonderingly.

“_Married?” _Asked Crowley disgustedly.

“Are you… _not married_?” Anathema was sure that this revelation shouldn’t have topped the one about Adam being the son of Satan or the whole Armageddon thing but somehow this seemed the strangest part of a day already saturated in strange doings. “How can you not be married? You follow each other around like little ducklings and _you,” _She pointed at Crowley somewhat threateningly, “always take him to little diners and cutesy fucking cafes even though you don’t eat and _you,” _Aziraphale dodged her flying, accusatory hand, “are always trying to get him into warmer clothing and asking about the Bentley and dropping 16th-century style sexy eyes all over the place. _Seriously? _You have to be married! You bicker constantly and don’t understand personal space! How are you not married?!?”

“Well, for one thing,” Crowley drawled. “The whole church bit would pose no end of issues.”

“Pssshaaww,” Anathema exploded in a not particularly becoming fashion, utterly at an end. “People get married in lakes and woods and rolling-bloody-meadows- “

“My dear,” Aziraphale cut in gently, “I’m afraid Crowley and mine’s relationship is simply not like that. I mean, yes, we may do all of those things with the, the, _restaurants _and such but that is the sign of a very close friendship.”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed, “Particularly all the fantastic sex we have. Very close friendship there, BFFs obviously. We exchanged bracelets and everything.”

Anathema, deciding enough was enough, threw up her hands and left the room. This had all been a rather terrible day and when you got right down to it, most of it was the fault of the idiots in her living room stubbornly refusing to make sense. She was going to do the sensible thing and go and have a nap with Newt.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded. “There was no need to tease her so.”

“Well, maybe I was stretching to truth a _little _bit seeing as there’s only been the one time so far, but I was being perfectly honest about the ‘fantastic’ part. Or am I off-base here, Angel?” Aziraphale went slightly pink and Crowley grinned as wickedly as he knew how.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, I’m simply saying that you shouldn’t lead her on in these matters.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed. Aziraphale was acting… odd. And not the kind of odd that Crowley had expected him to act post a somewhat short-sighted but thoroughly enjoyable tumble in the woods half an hour ago. Crowley had expected Aziraphale to brush it off, to be quite frank. It was the primary reason why Crowley hadn’t made advances in this area a few centuries ago. Somehow the thought of the angel putting his robe back on and moving on to the next book or meal without a care had never quite appealed. Not that Crowley was _sentimental._ Obviously. But if he didn’t get to play the emotionally-distant one in any kind of situation than it obviously wasn’t for him. You see, while demons were all about the pleasures of the world and how to experience them _now-right-now, _most angels were notoriously disconnected from their human bodies, far too concerned with the inner to pay much mind at all to what occurs on the outer.

Of course, Aziraphale had never been like most angels. Just look at the way he went after sushi.

“Tell me, Angel, are you quite sure that it’s _her _you’re concerned I’m leading on?” He asked quietly. Aziraphale blushed harder and avoided Crowley’s eyes.

“What? Well, of course, I mean who else- Anyway, it’s not like most demons hold much regard to things _beyond…_ err, things not to do with _you know_, so it’s really quite natural- “

Crowley hummed, examined the fourth finger of his left hand quite closely, and grinned a little. In truth, he had never been like most demons either.

“Well, a church is right out.” Crowley mused.

“…What?”

“A church. Out of the question. I’m not going to be standing there is my lovely suit (black, obviously) hopping about from foot to foot, the whole thing will look completely undignified. No. And I don’t know about a forest, really, not very _us, _is it? No, somewhere a touch more civilised.”

“My dear, what on earth are you talking about?” Aziraphale asked, completely lost.

“Our wedding, obviously. Do keep up. Oh! I’ve got it, let’s do it at the Ritz. It’ll be perfect, you handle the food and I’ll sort the music.”

“Wedding? But Crowley you don’t _want _to get married. To anyone! Least of all me.”

“I absolutely do not want to get married. It’s tedious and a bit gauche and something you lot have had far too much of a hand in for me to be quite comfortable about, but _you _want to get married and I’m feeling sentimental and in the mood to make some people happy. Most of all you.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“Yes, rather.” Agreed Crowley.

“Do you suppose- “

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, alright. You know, I don’t actually want to get married.”

“What?”

“Well, you have a point about my lot’s involvement and well, really, do we need to?”

“What do you mean?”

“If everyone already thinks we are, and it’s not like either one of us is going anywhere anytime soon- “

“You’d better not. If Upstairs pulls anything- “

“- than I rather think we’re sorted.”

“Hmm, yes, I think you might be right on that front although perhaps…” Crowley closed his eyes tightly and concentrated. A second later he slid something shiny and silver over the fourth finger of Aziraphale’s left hand. It looked very similar to the shiny, silver thing that had been resting on his own for the past minute or so. “There we go, Angel. If only for tradition.”

“Oh, Crowley, I knew you were- “

“Don’t you say it!”

“Alright, I won’t. But I know it, and you’re just going to have to live with that.”

“Forever.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m just going to have to live with that forever.” Crowley wasn’t smiling. Demons didn’t smile. He was very softly smirking.

“Yes,” Angels could smile, so Aziraphale did, brightly. “I think that sounds just about right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pure nonsense and fluff. I apologise if Anathema is a bit out of character, to be honest she was a stand in for myself throughout the whole story because, seriously, how are they not married? Nah. They're totally married.


End file.
